


Play Dead

by Nickidemus



Series: The Twisted Adventures of Bridget and Hans [2]
Category: Inglourious Basterds (2009)
Genre: Dubious Consent, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-03
Updated: 2013-02-03
Packaged: 2017-11-28 01:46:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/668858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nickidemus/pseuds/Nickidemus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bridget didn't die in that theater. She escaped. And she turns the tables on her would-be murderer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Play Dead

Playing dead was the smartest thing Bridget could've done. Dragging herself outside after Landa left was the second smartest. She got out just before the door was barred, and she did it unnoticed since everyone was already in the theater. That narrow window, and it certainly felt narrow to someone gagging on their own, crushed throat and pulling a bum leg along, had been her salvation.

She was a known collaborator with Kino, so she was safe. She lied about who had attacked her, blaming a soldier for whom she claimed she had no name. She'd been hospitalized. The cast, soggy from lying in a puddle in the street, was removed to make way for a new one. Her voice would never be the same, she was told. She was lucky to be able to speak at all. She was angry at herself for being vain about it, then convinced herself the rasp was sexy.

Then came a whole, new limelight. And she reveled in it. She got a few medals for the part she played in ending the war. She had scripts piling up, so many movies offered she had her pick of the litter. Her grin grew wider every moment, because she'd been told Hans lived. Somewhere, he lived. He'd gotten just what he asked for, so he must be watching from somewhere, and he must know he'd failed to do away with her, and it must sting. And she laughed just thinking of it.

Bridget von Hammersmark waited three, long years. Because she was grinding her heel into him, making him watch her live and flourish. A perfect revenge. But not perfect enough. She hungered for something she couldn't put a name to. Not his death. What good would that do when his suffering would simply end? She knew Aldo Raine's mark had scarred and stayed, had made Landa's life less than ideal, but less than ideal sounded downright good to a woman who remembered puking in a gutter, the blood that ran through the dirty water. Recalled the way her head had bounced off the floor when he drove her from her chair. She still got these headaches...

Hans Landa was easy to track down. He didn't advertise himself, oh no. Not like he might've planned, but even if he wished to hide, there was no one who could outrun her influence. His house was nice, as was where it sat, but he'd moved more than once. Would probably do so again.

She ordered her bodyguards to stay back as she walked without fear to the front door, knocking briskly upon it.

She saw the way he peered through his curtains, frightened. His fear seemed to compound when he saw it was her. At first she wasn't sure he'd open the door, but he did, if only halfway. The swastika on his forehead was as bold as life itself. She wondered that he didn't wear a hat, but she supposed you can't wear a hat all the time.

"Hans," she purred. "Fancy meeting you here."

He swallowed. "You..." He stepped back. "Come in."

"How nice of you," she grinned, stepping past him, keeping her over-sized handbag and all it held close to her hip. "But then... we're both war heroes, aren't we?"

She watched him, the way his skin went waxy at her words. "You never told anyone," he pointed out, folding and unfolding his hands together. "You could have. You could have revealed everything."

"And get myself shot in the head," she replied flatly, her voice that of an aging feline with the growl that clung to it. "I crawled... through shit to stand here with you, Hans. I wouldn't waste it."

Hans stiffened, trying to keep himself in check, trying to be the colonel he no longer was. Of course, the armor was cracking as his face twitched with stress. "Are you going to kill me?"

Bridget was digging in her purse and pulled out what she was looking for. She grinned and shook her head. "No, silly." The rod she held sparked at the end. "Unlike you, I'm more creative than that."

* * * * *

"You're awake!" she chirped, as much as she could when her voice would no longer reach such heights.

He was secured to the bed, naked, and she could see he was bleary to say the least. Really all he could see was she was fiddling with something in her hands, examining it. She'd changed dresses, as well. She wore red now.

"You know, I can't say... you won't enjoy this," she laughed, shaking her head. Then laughed even harder when he tried to crane his neck to see better what she was doing across the room. "You might! You actually might. I seem to recall that you like it rough. Have you ever tried it with the tables turned?"

"Bridget," he huffed. "We all did exactly what we had to at the time. I was never loyal to the cause! I wouldn't have made the choice I did if--"

She was on him in a flash, straddling his chest, shoving a metal bar under his chin, and pressing at his throat. "If you think that's what this is about," she hissed, "then you're a lot stupider than I thought. Either that or you're exercising some negotiation tactic they taught you when you were in the service, and let me tell you, you can save it."

"You're mad," he wheezed.

"Yes," she smirked. "Angry and a little crazy on both counts. I can thank you for the latter. Now, are you ready?"

She didn't wait for him to answer. Rather she reached behind her with one hand and began stroking his cock. It wasn't coming out to play so quickly, and she understood full-well why. But she coaxed and toyed until he couldn't resist. He was standing at full attention, panting beneath her, his wrists red from the ropes, by the time she slid over him and took him inside.

Was this insane? Maybe so. Maybe he had a point about her, but damn if they weren't two peas in a pod. And she'd been right, too. He had made her this way. It was only right she thank him for it. She pulled her red dress up over her head and discarded it, riding harder, his hands now trying to free themselves so they might touch her. Indeed, he no longer seemed concerned with freedom for the sake of evading her. Now it seemed he wanted more of her, his bucking up deeper into her proof positive. The same thing in her brain that made her enjoy the fame made her enjoy that.

She pressed her body fully along his while thrusting back over him, her finger raising to trace the perfect lines of the symbol on his forehead. He shuddered and try to turn away, but she forced his head back into place, not stopping until she'd perfectly followed every line with her index finger.

"This is nice, isn't it?" she moaned down against his mouth, giggling when he kissed her hungrily. "Mmm, yes, it is." Then suddenly she sat up, his cock going hilt deep, and drew the rod across his throat again. She put all her weight against it. She bared her teeth as he struggled. There was sweat on her face and his now, both sets of eyes too wide and desperate.

He came, splashing inside her, and she ground down against him until she felt her body tremble with release. He blacked out. Or maybe he played dead, learning what she'd learned three years ago. Either way, she pulled back. She checked his pulse and found it weak but there.

Sliding off his prone body, she stood stiff and nude in his bedroom, looking around at his things and realizing for a strange moment that having things makes a person human. She heard a soft wheeze and looked over her shoulder at him. She would dress, gather her things, and cut the ropes soon.

"You're going to continue to wonder why I left you alive," she said to the silence. "It might be because you'll see me again."


End file.
